


Make All Things New

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Children of Earth, Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He smiled as another piece of his new self clicked into place. "Not too afraid of not running," he murmured to himself. "I'm that kind of a man. For once."</i> - Set post-<i>Children of Earth</i>, during and after <i>The End of Time</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make All Things New

He didn't have time.

Ironic, for a Time Lord, but time was running out on him, potential futures emptying out like from a leaky pipe, drip-drip-drip, and soon there wouldn't be anything left.

The Doctor could feel the deadly radiation in every cell in his body, slowly killing him. Regeneration energy coiled within him, a tightly wound knot in his stomach ready to snap, poised to spring out as soon as the contamination had progressed far enough, spill out and kill and remake him. He could feel it spreading, his hearts beating faster, his muscles growing weaker. A little while ago, every hair on his body had started to hurt. Now even the fabric of his suit was chafing.

A slow, lingering, drawn-out death. He hadn't had one of those before.

All the timelines were curling and twisting away from him, into a future without him.

Well, not _him_, of course, but still - without _this_ him. No point in railing against it now, of course, not when he was in the process of _dying_, but that didn't mean he had to like it, right?

Right.

So there wasn't any time, but this just wouldn't do.

Jack was grey-faced, quiet and oblivious to his surroundings, sitting in a corner booth in what had to be one of the sorriest excuses for a pub the Doctor had seen in a long time. He looked like absolute hell, like the Time War warmed over - and oh, wasn't _that_ a brilliant image.

Something had happened.

Something the Doctor didn't know about.

And whatever it was, it had left Jack completely shattered. The Doctor didn't even want to think about what could reduce this man of all people to that. Jack had always been one of the most vibrant, vital, _indomitable_ people he'd known. That zest for life had always been there underneath, no matter how buried, even in his darkest hours. Not even a year with the Master had managed to break him, but _something_ had.

This wasn't someone he could say good-bye to.

There wasn't any time. The Doctor turned away.

~*~

Off to the future it was, following Jack's own timeline, convoluted though it might be, jumping forward, looping back on itself, but always returning to that nearly linear path Jack had kept to for a long time now.

This was seven years ahead in Jack's life, and another drinking joint, this one brighter and more lively, filled with people of all species. Jack's kind of bar, actually - the kind he used to tell stories about, back when he'd been travelling with the Doctor and Rose.

But Jack was sitting at the bar, not looking at anyone.

Ouch. _Still?_

Then the Doctor saw it. A smile, and something in his eyes, just a little bit - no, this Jack might not be in the best of moods, but he was a far cry from the shattered wreck of seven years ago. This Jack might have had a bad day, he might be sitting alone, but he was sitting at the bar, not hidden away in a corner. He was going to have a few Altairian martinis, and he'd be all right.

Mostly.

This was a Jack he knew how to deal with. Hm, how to start ...

Suddenly the Doctor spotted another familiar face in the crowd, and a smile broke out on his face.

He knew just what to do here.

~*~

The Doctor dragged himself up from the metal grating. The flames around him had been extinguished, but there was no doubt that he'd spectacularly crashed the TARDIS. Apparently long, drawn-out deaths came with particularly explosive regenerations. He grimaced, and then grimaced some more to test his new facial muscles. He pinched his lower lip several times, fascinated with the feel.

Then he shook himself out of it.

"Sorry, old girl," he muttered and wiped his new hand over his new forehead, a futile attempt to get his suddenly too-long hair out of his face.

He took stock of himself, briefly. Male, not too old, still pale. He sighed. There might have been some variation in one of those, at least. He brushed a hand over his head again, pulled at a strand of hair. Still weird hair, too, and still not ginger. Limbs long and a bit gangly. Teeth and tongue ...

No. TARDIS first.

Bending over a part of the half-broken console, he found that it was still working. He performed a quick check and sighed in relief. The coral desktop theme was well and truly ruined, of course, but the TARDIS itself seemed all right. Good old sturdy Type 40 - it could take a lot of punishment. The Doctor poked at the dimensional stabiliser and the dematerialisation circuit, and they seemed in perfect working order. The decor and the console controls had taken the worst of the damage.

He jumped over the remains of a crashed metal strut to the other side of the console. Fixing! Fixing things, yes. He might not know exactly who he was right now, but he knew how to fix this.

While he worked on the console, it was entirely too quiet here. Even the usual hum of the TARDIS was dimmed. He twitched uncomfortably.

~*~

The Doctor looked across the dreary pub at the man in the corner booth. He'd given it just enough time for his old self to leave.

His last self had been altogether too good at leaving. Too good at leaving things behind, even for him.

Whatever it was that had done _that_ to Jack - to Jack, of all people - no, it shouldn't be ignored. Now that the regeneration craziness had passed, that was the first thing that had come to mind, a niggling thought that wouldn't leave until he'd set the coordinates. Even the TARDIS had hummed in satisfaction.

He smiled as another piece of his new self clicked into place. "Not too afraid of not running," he murmured to himself. "I'm that kind of a man. For once."

~*~

Jack didn't look up when he slid into the booth opposite him. Didn't tell him to go away.

Didn't acknowledge him in any way, in fact. He merely took a swallow of his hypervodka - 160% alcohol, they said, 60 of which in hyperspace - as if he hadn't even seen him.

"Jack," the Doctor said, and he was glad to realise it came out in a tone not too dissimilar from his previous self's.

Sure enough, Jack's head jerked up. His eyes narrowed in instant recognition. They took a moment to focus fully, but Jack was nothing if not experienced at forcing himself back to sobriety when necessary. Then, incongruously, he laughed. A deep, dark, desperate and utterly humourless laugh.

"What?" the Doctor asked, annoyed.

Jack's laughter cut off as suddenly as it had begun. He snorted. "They actually let you in here? Did you get carded?"

The Doctor huffed. "I don't look _that_ young." Maybe in comparison to his previous selves. All right, they _had_ wanted proof of age at the entrance, not that he'd ever admit it to Jack. But that was what psychic paper was for.

Jack rolled his eyes. "For your age? Yes, you do." Then the animation suddenly fell away from his features; he turned away, looked at the cheap plastic table, the dented wall, the dingy threadbare carpet, his own tense hands - but never out into the room, never at other people - and finally settled on staring into his hypervodka.

"_Now_ you turn up," he muttered. He emptied his half-full glass and hit the button on the table. With a slight groan, a section of the table opened, and the delivery mechanism produced a new plastic glass brimful with the same transparent liquid.

"Tell me."

In a diffident, half-absent voice, Jack did.

~*~

"Fuck," the Doctor said succinctly.

Jack snorted. "Was that an offer or an order?" But his voice was still distant, the witticism a tired reflex.

Fuck indeed. What was it with disasters that couldn't be helped, lately? The metacrisis. Bowie Base. The Master's plots, all over again. And the 456 for Jack.

He thought of the face of a woman he had't seen for so long, standing at Rassilon's side but silently urging the Doctor on, her confidence in him humbling. He'd condemned her to the Time War again. They were not so different, Jack and he.

And yet ...

He shook off the thought. Time for that later.

Jack hadn't looked at him during his explanation - his _report_, he should say, from the way he'd phrased it. He'd told it to the backs of his hands or to the scratched surface of the table. Now he was staring into his hypervodka again, but it didn't look like he was seeing anything.

Except dead people.

Only one thing for it. "C'mon, let's go."

Jack looked up, surprised. He made a noncommittal noise, but stood and followed the Doctor outside without hesitation. There seemed no fight left in him; certainly not for something so petty as resisting the Doctor over this.

The full glass of hypervodka remained on the table, untouched.

~*~

Outside in the alley, Jack suddenly stopped. He turned around and looked at the Doctor, blinking, as if he'd only just realised he was there. "Where are we going?"

The Doctor bounced on his toes. "TARDIS, of course."

Jack gave him an incredulous look, rubbed a tired hand over his face and turned away. "I already said no to you once."

Oh dear.

"Really?" the Doctor challenged and stepped right into Jack's space, scowling at him. Somehow that statement irritated him far more than it warranted. "Did you really? If I was serious, do you think you could?"

They were no longer talking about an offer of travel, but it wasn't until his face was only inches from Jack's that he realised. He'd never gone there before. _Oh. New man, right._

Within an instant Jack was right in his face, fury oozing from every pore. "Think again," he hissed, shoving at the Doctor's chest for good measure. "Watch me walk away." He turned, took two long strides -

And the Doctor had him by the arm, spinning him around. "No."

Suddenly they were kissing. He was holding Jack's skull, holding Jack in place, his lips rough and urgent, his tongue brushing over Jack's teeth, sweeping into his mouth, and he wished for a second that he could compare tastes - new taste buds, after all - but the thought fled quickly. More important things to do, like _kissing Jack_.

Being kissed by Jack.

Because Jack was responding, and a moment later it was Jack's hands on his face, Jack's bulkier frame crowding the Doctor against a dirty wall, a hard thigh pressing between his legs, and oh, yes, _that_ felt lovely. Jack's tongue was in his mouth now, urgent and angry and needy, and oh _yes_. Oh yes, indeed.

They came apart, breathlessly, just looking at each other for a moment - and the Doctor suddenly started laughing. "Didn't you say I look like a baby?"

Jack snorted. "Didn't say it. Not in those words."

"Meant it."

Jack grinned. A real grin, finally. "Sure, _baby_. Looking good for your age." Then his eyes turned soft, for the first time since the Doctor had arrived. "It's you," Jack added, as if that explained everything.

Perhaps it did.

Perhaps Jack, of all people, knew what that meant, underneath the changed body, the different mannerisms, the new self.

"It's me," the Doctor confirmed. His smile turned mischievous. "I knew you were never going to say no to me."

Jack's face contorted into a grimace. Right. Complicated thing, this. Better step carefully.

The Doctor patted Jack's chest soothingly and looked around the dirty alleyway with distaste. He gripped Jack by the elbow. "Now come on, let's get out of here. Seems my new self is all for making ourselves more comfortable." He grinned widely. "Bed! I like beds. Good for all sorts of things."

Jack blinked in surprise - he clearly hadn't expected anything beyond this quick, adrenaline-fuelled snog-and-grope. And the Doctor's last self probably wouldn't have allowed more either. Maybe not even this much. Well, not under these particular circumstances, at least. The Doctor wasn't _that_ much of a hypocrite - he could admit, if only to himself, that there were perfectly viable circumstances where he might have ...

Oh, well. Water under the bridge. This was now.

He almost dragged Jack back to the TARDIS.

~*~

Jack stared at the scene of devastation. "What the hell did you do to her?" He patted the wall affectionately. "So sorry, sweetie, I'm sure we'll get you fixed right up."

The TARDIS practically purred with pleasure - she'd always liked Jack, and since her return from being turned into a paradox machine she'd not even been bothered any more by what Jack was. He'd killed her, unravelling the paradox and bringing her back to herself all in one instant, and she'd trusted him implicitly ever since.

The Doctor huffed. "It's just the desktop theme," he muttered. And then: "Not _now_, Jack."

Jack looked back at him, and there was an actual twinkle in his eye. "Impatient, are you?"

But he let the Doctor drag him out of the console room without resistance.

~*~

Naked, and oh, there was a whole bunch of firsts taken care of in one go.

He might look younger than he had, but Jack never let that deceive him - didn't treat him differently at all as far as the Doctor could discern. He was sure Jack would have put his warm hands on the Doctor's chest in the same way, for his previous self. He _had_ once cupped his face just like this, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. And he'd have bitten the Doctor's lip the same way now, no matter the body. He'd have half-tripped, half-pushed him onto the broad bed with the same mischievous grin. He'd have pushed the Doctor's arms above his head, holding his wrists in a strong hand exactly the same, just to see if the Doctor would let him.

The Doctor found to his surprise that - yes, fantastic, brilliant, _lovely_ \- yes, _of course_ he was letting him.

Jack bit his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. The Doctor groaned. It sounded desperate even to his own ears. _Mmmm, new kink._

Jack's knee was between the Doctor's legs, pushed up against his balls, a grounding pressure, and the Doctor twisted against it.

Twisted in Jack's grip, but not enough to get loose.

Of course not.

_Data point_, a part of the Doctor's brain catalogued. _New self likes this altogether too much. Can't last._

Of course it couldn't last, but they were here, now, and that was what mattered. The Doctor moaned, grinding against Jack's knee, twisting against the hand holding his wrists just enough to really _feel_ the restraint. Jack brushed his free hand over the Doctor's nipples, then suddenly pinched one.

The Doctor arched his back and groaned deeply.

And all the while he looked directly into Jack's eyes.

Jack's pupils were dilated, his lips were parted, and the tip of his tongue was showing. Jack, bent over him and staring, as if he could come just from _looking_ at him. And oh, wasn't that a head trip.

Then Jack let him go.

"Hey!" the Doctor protested. The word was out before he could stop it.

Jack winked at him and sat back on his heels. "Turn over."

Oh. _Oh._ Oh hell, yes.

The Doctor turned onto his elbows and knees. Awkward. Not quite right.

It took him a moment to settle his still-unfamiliar limbs comfortably into position. He flexed his muscles, arched his spine, spread his knees a little more. His forehead came down to rest against the mattress. Yes, that was better.

Lovely, in fact.

"Settled?" Jack's voice was tinged with amusement.

"Mmmpf," the Doctor mumbled into the mattress. A contented sound, he decided. He liked this.

Besides, whatever message his posture might send, Jack knew him well enough. No danger of silly misunderstandings there.

Jack's hand slid up his thigh.

~*~

Sex was _perfect_, he decided. He should start every new regeneration like this. Getting used to your new body in just the right way. Feeling yourself, every muscle, every hair, every sensitive spot. Figuring out things about your psyche, too, new kinks and all.

This body liked Jack's hands on his hips, gripping just a little too tightly. Liked fingers pushing into him - well, all right, there hadn't been a version of him that hadn't liked _that_, yet. But this body apparently liked being fucked, hard and fast, with only perfunctory preparation. Liked being filled: the burn and stretch, the roughness of it. Feeling real, grounded. At least right now, right here, it was perfect. He wondered what other things he'd like, and if they'd be just as good.

Jack's attentions were a bizarre combination of anger and tenderness, and that was _just right_, too.

When the rhythm suddenly stopped, he very nearly whimpered.

Jack was holding still, panting - pulling back from the edge. There was a breathless chuckle in the Doctor's ear. "I think I like the new you." Then he rolled his hips, and the Doctor moaned shamelessly, wordlessly begging for more.

Always wordlessly, because _that_ hadn't changed. He'd never say it, not any of it, not out loud. But sex was a language Jack spoke very well.

A moment later, Jack was thrusting into him again - _oh, yes, hello again, prostate, right on target_ \- and the Doctor was pushing back against every thrust.

Finally, a hand wrapped around his cock, pulling, once, twice ...

... and he was coming, a surprised explosion of pleasure, the newness of his body making it impossible to hold back. His entire body clenched, and Jack was groaning into his ear. Another few erratic, stuttering thrusts, and Jack followed him.

Bonelessly, they collapsed, the Doctor into the mattress and Jack right on top of him.

~*~

After a while, he poked his elbow into Jack's side. Jack grumbled a wordless complaint at him.

"Get off me," the Doctor ordered. "I'm not going to lie in the wet spot."

"Pushy," Jack mumbled, but moved. He rolled over, pulling the Doctor with him. Big bed. Useful. "Shut up."

And with Jack's warmth wrapped around him, his limbs heavy and his body no longer new and strange but already familiar with use, the Doctor did just that.

~*~

He woke on top of Jack, his cheek on Jack's shoulder, their legs tangled. He was wide awake and very comfortable. "Mmmm."

"Mmmm," Jack replied, equally eloquently.

The Doctor thought for a moment. "So," he said, without bothering to lift his head. "You killed your grandson."

He could feel Jack tense under him. "And you killed the mood."

Jack pushed at his shoulders, but the Doctor refused to let himself be moved. "Stop that," he said, pleasantly. "Not going anywhere. Listen."

Jack very obviously didn't want to listen, but the Doctor wouldn't let himself be budged.

When Jack finally gave up his resistance, the Doctor asked quietly, "You've heard about the Master?

"I talked to Martha afterwards," was the terse reply. "By the time I knew, you'd already reverted everything. Everyone. That was you, wasn't it?"

"That was me," the Doctor acknowledged. "Previous me, to be precise."

"That what killed you?" Idle curiosity. Not surprising it wasn't more, not from a man who had developed a bad habit of dying more frequently than some people changed their underwear.

"In a roundabout way. Anyway. The Master." It still hurt to say his name. He still wished he could have got through to him somehow. But he'd tried all his life, and he'd never managed.

_And whose fault was that?_ Who could the Master have been, without Rassilon's scheme? Without those drumbeats pounding at him at all times?

Who indeed.

"Yeah, about that." Jack's voice was quiet, but now he sounded genuinely interested. "How was he even alive? Is he dead for good?"

"Long story. Another time, all right? And yes. No. Something like that. He's gone now. Time-locked." The Doctor couldn't keep the grief out of his voice, but Jack didn't call him on it. Jack had never called him on it, despite everything the Master had done. "No getting out from there." Hopefully. Terrible as that was. Damn Rassilon to hell, anyway.

"Okay." Unspoken: _Is this going anywhere?_

"Hmmm." The Doctor took a moment to collect his thoughts. "He asked me, you know. Wilf. You remember him? Donna's granddad. Lovely bloke. He asked me to kill the Master."

That made Jack tense all over again. "You wouldn't." Utter conviction.

The Doctor pretended to consider the thought. "No, I wouldn't." He shook his head ruefully. "I can point the gun, but I won't pull the trigger. No matter the price."

_No matter the price._ And that was something he didn't even like to think about in himself. He might be able to condemn his own people - yes, including _her_ \- to the time-locked Time War, forever, but he still couldn't pull that trigger.

He'd done it once, and ... never again.

New self, old self, _never again_.

Not that shooting Rassilon or the Master would have done much good, then and there, but there had been times ...

"It would have saved humanity," he delivered the finishing blow. "I didn't know there was another way, not then. And I still said no." Sharply, "I said no. Not even for every single human being on Earth."

For a moment, there was silence. He waited. Waited for Jack to realise.

Jack, incongruously, snorted. "You're saying that like I should be surprised."

He pushed at the Doctor's shoulders again, but this time it wasn't to get away from the talk. The Doctor let himself be moved over just far enough so they could look at each other properly. They stared at one another for the longest time, taking measure.

Finally, the Doctor lowered his eyes. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Which of us is the better man, do you suppose?"

And Jack, with a rueful smile, shook his head and let go of the Doctor's shoulders. He cupped his face in his hands, leaned his forehead against the Doctor's and closed his eyes. "Wish I knew," he whispered. "Wish I knew."

**Author's Note:**

> "160% alcohol, 60% of which in hyperspace" is usually said about vurguzz.


End file.
